Through Oceans of Time
by MarthitaMG
Summary: This is my first fanfiction ever, and I've been having this sort of story in my mind since I watched and fell in love with Hannibal (the character and the tv show). This is an alternate universe story, where Will has wait over a 1,000 years to find his beloved companion, the thing is: will he be able to love the man his companion has become in this new life?


**Chapter One. Lingering Nightmares**

 **410 AD. Britain.**

The air smelled of blood and ash, trampled grass and ruin, the sounds of the wounded horses and dying men accompanied by that of metal clashing and arrows flying swiftly through the air… It was chaos, it was doom, it was war.

He had lost sight of his comrades when the bloodshed began, thought he could still see Arthur in the distance, almost dancing through the thousands of Saxons trying to stop him, Excalibur singing its deadly song just as its master opened a gap in the ranks of the opposing army, trying to reach Lancelot and Guinevere… An arrow flew close to his right ear and that brought back his attention to the battlefield, he jumped out of the way of an incoming battle axe and swung his sword, striking the expose flesh of the Saxon's throat, blood spray to the sky and he kept moving, fighting and dogging incoming attacks, not afraid and determined, he needed to find someone, he needed to find _him_.

The battle was escalating, but it seems that, against all odds, they were winning, the Saxons were dropping like dead flies, brought down by swords or Woad arrows; he catch a glimpse oh the Woad leader, Merlin, fighting like a maniac among others of his tribe, all filled with rage against the invading army and bringing chaos among the few unlucky Saxons that crossed paths with the warlock (Arthur claimed the legends were false, but there was just something about Merlin that didn't quite fit with the rest of the world).

A sudden movement catch his attention, and he turned to see the most terrifying vision of all in that war: there, at the top of the grassy hill, the leader of the Saxons, Cerdic, was swinging with brutal force a giant axe against one of the knights, but not any knight, against Tristan… _his_ Tristan; his blood turn to ice and then started to burn as his legs moved at full speed, his sword arm kept swinging with more force, trying to open a pat that could take him to Tristan and the brute that was trying to bring him down, he heard screams and saw blood flying in front of him, from and enemy or an ally, it didn't matter, the only thing that matter was Tristan… only Tristan. He trampled over dead bodies without a care in the world, and started roaring like a rabid animal at any saxon that dared come close to him, a young and stupid saxon brute step in his way, and the last thing he saw was the crazed look in the eyes of the man that cut his head off clean of his shoulders; he didn't even bother to avoid the headless body, he simply push it out of the way without a second look… He was so close now, he was going to reach Tristan in time and he will save his reckless ass so he could kill him later, he was going to save him, he was going to save him, he was going…

A terrible pain struck him in the calf, he lost his footing and fell, face first, to the grass; he let out a painful noise and push himself on his hands to look at his wounded leg: an arrow had hit its mark, and his left calf was oozing blood from where the arrows had burrow… A scream tore his gaze from his leg to the hill in front of him and his eyes glazed at the sight of a wounded and dying Tristan on the ground, with Cerdic standing a top of him, swinging his axe for the final and killing blow; time seemed to move slower, the sounds of the battle died out, and he tried to crawl his way to Tristan, to try to stop the movement of the weapon that was about to take the most precious thing in the world to him, he screamed and screamed as he tried to move faster toward his beloved companion, stretching his arms and still unable to reach him… In that moment, in that final moment, Tristan let his head fell to the side and lock eyes with him, and the smallest smile caressed his lips, just as the axe fell with force and his screams fill the air…

 **Present day. Wolf Trap, Virginia.**

He woke up with a jolt and a snarl stuck deep in his throat, fangs bared and all his muscles ready to tear any enemy apart… A soft whimper and a low bark draw his attention to his dogs, who were all awake and keeping a safe distance from the dangerous creature with glowing red eyes that was lying in the bed; he turned his gaze to the digital clock in his night table, it was 7 in the morning, and he was in Virginia, far away from Britain, and there was no attacking army or dying men, he was alone in his little house and had almost tear apart his poor dogs over a terrible memory. He let out a sigh and force himself to calm down, the fangs retracted and his eyes turned back to his normal shade of vivid blue. "Buster, Winston… come on, I'm sorry, please, come here", he said with a calm voice, yet he pushed a little persuasion into it, just to make sure his dogs realized he was fine. "Come on, guys, it's okay, I'm sorry for being so grumpy in the morning, it was just a bad memory". The dogs seemed a little calmer, but neither try to step closer to the bed, until Winston, the newest addition to the family, took a few steps and placed his furry head in his lap.

He sighed and pet the dog, humming an old lullaby from when he was a boy and that seemed to do the trick: the rest of the pack move closer to the bed a surrounded him with their heat and their smell, something he appreciated, so he could forget the odor of the memory that still haunt him, even after all those years. He stayed a little while on the bed, but when the slumber of his kind started to pulled him down, he had to shake his dogs and move out of the bed before he fell asleep again, since that wouldn't do any good to his work in the FBI…

He moved to the bathroom to wash his face, and then he look at himself in the mirror to try and do something about the tired look he had that morning, not that it made such a difference since he was awake at an abnormal time for him, but he tried anyway: his unruly brown hair was all over the place, so he tried to comb it a little, there was a subtle stubble al over his cheeks and chin that didn't look so bad, his eyes (right now, blue) were a little glazy and bright, but that was something he couldn't do anything about (he would have to use his glasses again), he had terrible bags under his eyes and a sickly pale complexion… He had been neglecting his needs the last few days, since Jack Crawford walk into his classroom and asked for his help. He couldn't say no, even when he knew it wasn't a good idea.

"Sometimes, you still act like a child, Gallahad", he said and then chastised himself. He hadn't used that name in centuries, but it was nice to hear it once in a while, even when it was a stupid thing to do. He pulled himself away from the mirror and walk back to his room, he sat at the bed a took out the wallet from his jeans, just to see the ID in there: "William Graham" it read. That was him, he wasn't Gallahad anymore, Gallahad died in that battlefield centuries ago, and even when he had changed his name a lot during the years, the name "William" had stuck with him, he just used a new surname, and "Graham" had seem a good idea back in the day, since it sound a bit like his old name. And today, after the terrible memory that jolt him awake, seemed the day to remember who he once was, even if it was really painful.

He shook the feeling of dread, wipe a tear away and push himself, once again, from the bed… He looked at the clock and cursed "Shit, I'm late…" but, oh well, you can never be really late when you're a vampire.


End file.
